


My Depressing Poems

by fightthefry



Category: Poetry - Fandom
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2019-10-27 01:12:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17756975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fightthefry/pseuds/fightthefry
Summary: I write depressing poetry, and I honestly thought it would be a good idea to make a book compiling such poems.





	1. A Comfort on Christmas

Blowing through the trees it wound its way,  
Past alleys and shops and boys in their sleigh,  
The cats started to hiss, the dogs started to bark,  
At an invisible creature; its camouflage was stark,

It snuffed out the light of the carollers lamp,  
And melted the snow leaving the floor bare and damp,  
The birds chirped before their voices were hushed,  
Snowflakes under its feet were brutally crushed,  
A small girl sat sombre in her grave room,

A face full of sadness, an expression of gloom,  
A small candle began to fizzle out and die,  
As the creature peered in the window with one, sunken eye.

It saw not a child, spoiled by father and mum,  
Not a bully who hurt other children for fun,  
Not a liar who always tried to deceive,  
But a little girl who was alone on Christmas Eve,

As the girl began to sob and moan,  
The creature didn’t want her to be on her own,  
So, it opened the latch that held the window tight,  
And entered her room, turning on the lights,

She looked up and gasped, promptly hiding her eyes,  
Behind a pillow with holes on a bed filled with lice,  
The creature has not realised, its disguise had crumbled,  
And its features were shown, misshapen and jumbled,

The girl still hid as the creature moved closer,  
And wrapped its arms around her shoulder,  
Its touch was warm buts its breath was cold,  
The girl didn’t mind, she didn’t shift from his hold,

As the clocked ticked midnight, the creature still stayed,  
It would not leave her alone, not on Christmas Day.


	2. The Drowing of a Man

My journey winds through old walls lined with asbestos memories  
and photographs that paint the ages dark and hollow. A sea;  
I’m trapped and moving with the current that disallows me to stop,  
to think. Everything goes so fast. I can’t breathe.

My mother, stood with her hands on her corset tied tight and her hair swept  
up into immovable elegance, a sheen plastered on like a veil. She shakes.  
My father, his face distorted by the heaves of deep breaths that shake  
and blow smoky tendrils from his cigar; choking me and binding me. His hands curl.

My neck strains and I look ahead, my legs wrought with unease;  
they grasp for a floor that is not there. The bile-stained rug entangles me  
as I weave through treacherous rock and duck beneath the hanging fronds.  
My head; heavy and weighted with inimitable thoughts.

Diving upon each other, the whitecaps rip at the starting’s of my beard,  
And wipe clean the layers of skin that have built over the years.  
Beneath each film lies a lashing; a bruising. A mother’s sweet-salt embrace.  
The forced ignorance of the lookers on, whom shook my hand with tainted vigour. 

A house on the hill with a white picket fence. A child plays in the front garden,  
He is bound with a leash that is reigned by cruelty. He is painted black and blue.  
So smart! His little bow tie speckled with dust that would be beaten off later.  
His cap lined with soft silk that still carries the ghost of blood. It won’t fade.

I look at the dolls on the street with their paper fluttering’s and lidded eyes,  
Their hair so neatly embalmed and their skin painted so clear  
that they may be stood in the window of some clothing shop; perfect.  
The waves crash over, and I see the purple fingertips on their chests and their legs.

I smile, so small, and I let myself be reminded of home. Of mother’s cries.  
Nothing has changed, nothing much, not really. And I let myself relax  
into the thickening run of the water, my eyes closed at last.  
And the scars fade in with the white before my eyes. I’ve made it.


	3. Once Again, a Merry Christmas

The night was quiet, spare for drips of water,   
The sombre pine waiting like a pig for slaughter  
For the final axe, the final slice,  
Dead. Or dying. Melting like ice. 

The halo sits discarded, and the angel has quit  
Bent, broken and bruised she is, just a bit,  
For her job is done, her glory has run dry,  
Stuffed in a box when she used to sit so high.

His little hat, scratched and nicked,   
Poor nutcracker. The favourite; always picked,  
His red coat is the only thing left unscathed,   
It’s his straitjacket; it keeps him detained. 

Little did they know, that across the globe,  
Santa was sat, his hat hung up, back at home,   
A beer in his hand, when Mrs Claus comes in,  
She’s terrified, poor girl, terrified of him.

Pointed ears droop and bells scarcely jingle,  
As the elves cry for their saviour, Kris Kringle,  
But little do they know, but maybe some may fear,  
That they were to be stuck in cages till next year.

Christmas is great, Christmas is fun,  
The gritted teeth as we fire kind words from guns,  
Behind everyone’s back, people talk and whisper,  
Putting on masks when it comes to dinner.

The morning comes, kids complaining. New toys are alone.   
The children forget them, run straight to their phones.   
And they won’t look at the toys again. Broken. Flawed.  
What a selfish world we live in, God.

The tinsel has bled, its feathers in the bin,   
As parents shout, and argue, ne’er even a grin,  
I’ve learned to drown it out now, but I fear  
that it is I who have drowned. There’s no more cheer.

The tree has gone, I suspect to the above,  
Like little Jimmy rabbit, or my Great Aunt Dove,  
The food is gone, but the smell lingers like a jeer,  
Back to normal. Oh well. I guess there’s always New Year.


	4. The Seven Deadly Sins

She pries your purity ring off with painted fingers,

Her lips part as she grapples against you; you sigh in submission,

She pulls off your neck tie and unfastens the buttoned shirt,

That you wore to church with your wife and children,

She doesn’t talk. Oh Yes! Her body does the talking

as it writhes and wraps around you like a snake.

 

His hands shake as he pours the poisoned pills

Out into his coffee stained lap. Some fall into bottles.

Girls latch onto him as he rolls the dice onto the table.

He always bets on black. Black like the track lines

running up his arms, and like his animalistic pupils.

His eyes wander away as he speeds by the rehab centre.

 

She sits behind her big desk, arms behind her head

People run around her with different logos on their shirts,

They shout and argue over what to do about the deal,

She scrolls through Amazon and looks at her basket.

27 items. She adds another. And another. A man walks in.

They’ve made the deal. Okay. Time to make another.

 

‘Did you know that Poppy Elliot had a nose-job?’

She says, and they spread it around. And later you

cry in the bathroom at lunch. But she doesn’t care.

She got what she wanted. But now there’s a prettier girl

named Tracy Jenkins, with nice jewelled earrings.

‘Did you know that Tracy Jenkins had Botox?’

 

He’s Jack Torrance in the Shining. Redrum, Redrum!

He’s like a constant flow of gasoline. You have the match.

The prickling of the punch leaves your eye blue and purple,

But your ears are numb to the shouting now, mostly.

The hospital know you as clumsy, but you know that its him

that’s clumsy. Letting his temper get the best of him.

 

She sits on the chair as the flames roars high and mighty,

Her firefighter suit is clean and free of dust,

She yawns, stretches her legs and watches the calamity.

People are jumping and missing the trampoline

She smacks her lips as she reaches over for a drink.

They are dying and burning, and she doesn’t get up.

 

‘Tell me you love me,’ he whispers, biting his lip.

His girlfriend chuckles and watches the television,

He huffs and walks away, She’s not good enough for him.

He goes to the bar down the street and shows his badge,

He’s a police officer. He takes you by the arm without asking

and leads you upstairs. He assumes you want him.


	5. Praise Be Our Lord, Amen

A cascade of matted hair fells His shoulders as he

sits outside His house, the cross’s blackened shadow obscuring Him.

A woman hurries past, child in hand, golden cross bouncing as she rushes to Mass,

He reaches out, and she swats the hand of her Lord away forever,

 

The worshippers rise, hands behind their backs and ready to sing,

Beatific choir trills echo through the closed doors of the church,

And the piano keys that run up His torso vibrate with determined gusto

as they growl, playing a melancholic tune of despair and tainted hope.

 

Bare feet. Unwashed. He looks on at the scene unfolding before Him

and prays, but He has no one to pray to. He stares in despair at the doves,

As they fly away through hazed air and choke on rat poison. Hope is gone.

His son is glorified and forgotten, and He waits on for our despondent redemption.


	6. The Bad Girl

Upon broad skies fly tendrils of smoke,

From the parted lips of a tainted lass,

Her hair hangs loose in mangled streaks,

Blistered heels massage ruins of glass.

 

Her hands weep blue and kiss the veins,

That run her bloodied knuckles cold,

Nostalgia warms the shake of her fists,

As she leans into temptation’s hold.

 

Macabre words fly rampant o’er the wind,

That hacks at the chains on the floor,

His spit runs miles down her hurt eyes,

And his hands twitch loud for putrid war.

 

Mother and daughter; photo framed,

Their smiles cast in a glowing white,

She grasps the corner and brings it down,

Splattered red breeds disturbed delight,

 

A pallid face looks out to the horde,

Who obscure the dark in a swarm,

She waves with teeth stained gold with lust,

Impure hands that needed to conform.

 

She rests her arms above her head,

Deformity has sprouted its seed,

The devil has done nothing wrong, my dear,

It is you who makes yourself bleed.

 


End file.
